The production lines at the shelter were humming at maximum capacity. After the successful synthesis of double-base propellant, Andy did not stop to rest. In the grim darkness of the Underhive, stagnation was equivalent to death.
He stood before the newly assembled chemical processing unit, watching the translucent liquids cycle through lead-lined pipes.
"The high-explosive production line is 85% complete," Andy noted, his internal processors calculating the optimal yield. "Once the first batch of RDX-equivalent explosive is ready, the 'Andy Bio-Chemical No. 1' acid rounds will be the nightmare of every armored unit in this sector."
On the testing range of the shelter, Gamma-9 and his guards were familiarizing themselves with the upgraded "Stamping-pattern" autoguns.
"The recoil is heavier," Gamma-9 remarked after firing a burst into a scrap metal target. "But the power... it's like night and day."
The target, a thick plate of rusted industrial steel, was riddled with clean holes. With the new double-base propellant, the rounds had no trouble punching through light cover that previously would have deflected them.
"This is just the beginning," Andy's voice came over the vox-caster. "Gamma-9, take these schematics. I need the guard team to begin training with the XPG-200 rocket launchers. We've managed to produce the first five prototypes."
Gamma-9 looked at the rugged, shoulder-mounted tubes. They were simple, almost primitive by Imperial standards, but in the lawless Underhive, they were a game-changer.
While the guards trained, Andy turned his attention to his "masterpiece"—the "Chimera" Junior.
In the center of the heavy workshop, a slab-sided beast of steel was taking shape. Andy had used the chassis of a heavy-duty industrial tractor as the foundation, but the original cabin had been stripped away. In its place was a welded box of high-strength memory alloy plates he had scavenged from the Plague Doctor's hoard.
The vehicle featured a sloped frontal glacis to deflect incoming fire and thick, reinforced tracks designed to navigate the treacherous, rubble-strewn tunnels of the Underhive.
"Installing the weapon mount," Andy commanded the servo-arms.
A twin-linked heavy stubber was lowered onto the pintle mount atop the hull. It lacked the sophisticated tracking of a true Chimera, but under Andy's direct data-link control, its accuracy would be lethal.
As the shelter's military strength grew, the surrounding pressure reached a boiling point.
On the STC strategic map, several large red clusters were converging. The "Iron Skulls" gang, a group of cybernetically-enhanced thugs known for their brutality, had formed a temporary alliance with the "Reapers." Their scouts had been spotted less than two kilometers from the shelter's primary ventilation shaft.
"They want the starch," Bauer spat, cleaning grease from his hands. "They've heard we have actual food, not just corpse-starch or mold-gruel."
"Let them come," Andy said, his optical sensors glowing a steady, cold blue. "The shelter needs a live-fire test for the new hardware. Besides, the Eden-grade Protosperm is hungry for more biomass."
The influx of refugees had brought the population to nearly six hundred. The labor-point system was working better than Andy had expected; the promise of safety and "Andy Bio-Chemical No. 1" medicine had turned desperate scavengers into a disciplined workforce. They were currently digging secondary fallback tunnels and setting the "Simple Mines" Andy had designed—explosive canisters packed with jagged shrapnel.
Meanwhile, at the Helios Group's tenth-generation processing plant, the atmosphere was starkly different.
The "Purple-Heads"—the Genestealer Cultists—were moving with frantic efficiency. Their patriarch demanded the completion of the facility. They viewed Andy's growing enclave not just as a competitor, but as a harvest that was ripening too slowly.
"The processing plant will be online in seventy-two hours," a cultist whispered to the Primus. "By then, the biomass from the shelter will be perfectly seasoned by their own struggle."
Andy monitored the Helios site through hidden sensors. He knew that the gang attack was likely a precursor—a way for the bigger players to test his defenses.
He climbed into the cockpit of the newly finished armored vehicle. The engine roared to life, a deep, guttural thrum that vibrated through the workshop floor.
"Gamma-9, bring the team," Andy ordered. "We aren't going to wait for the gangs to knock on our door. We're going out for a 'resource relocation' mission. If the Iron Skulls want a war, we'll give them a massacre."
The heavy steel gates of the shelter ground open. The armored beast lurched forward, its twin-linked stubbers tracking the darkness of the tunnel ahead. The age of passive survival was over; the age of expansion had begun.